Disguise is a self portrait
by VexandRue
Summary: Post The empty hearse- Following Sherlocks return, he attempts to solve a case, with Donovan, Lestrade and John all following alone. But what will be revealed? What secrets has Sherlock been hiding beneath that arrogant persona? And what exactly happened to him in those two years? Mentions of torture and Serbia.


**Hello! Um so this is set after the events of 'The Empty Hearse.' I always felt Sherlock didn't get enough recognition for what he went through, so this is just a little fic I made.**

**Please read and review! I hope to update soon! Thank you :)**

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Sherlock ducked under the warning tape and waltzed onto the crime scene, with John following closely behind. It had been just under a month since Sherlocks return, when he had shocked John and Mary at the restaurant, and faced the wrath of John's fist.  
Ever since then, the two of them had slowly been building up a good relationship again, however it looked like things would never be exactly the way they were before. Sherlock had caused John too much pain. He lived with Mary now and although he still came on the occasional investigation with Sherlock, he spent most of his time with her.

Donovan stood staring at the two of them angrily, as Sherlock confidently made his way towards the house, with John following behind like a loyal puppy. At least, that's the way Donovan used to think of him. Now, she wasn't so sure. By now, all of Scotland Yard had heard- and taken great delight- that Sherlock had been battered about quite a bit that night he played a trick on John at the restaurant. Nothing serious, just a knock to the ground and a bloody nose, but certainly enough to cause him a bit of discomfort. And hopefully knock his ego.

Donovan knew that John was still very angry with Sherlock, and that he was walking on a type rope now that he was back. And quite frankly, Donovan wouldn't put it past John to give Sherlock another thump if he annoyed him anymore. She wouldn't even mind. Yes, she had had to admit she was wrong in accusing Sherlock before his fall-or more accurately, his jump- but it didn't change the fact that the man was downright rude to everyone he met and got off on crime scenes.

So, with all of these thoughts running through her head, it was no surprise when Sherlock walked up to her, the words "What do you want?" were out of her mouth before she could stop them.  
In response, Sherlock flashed his usual cocky grin at her. "Lestrade invited me." He said, "Now, if you don't mind moving, I'll just head on in and solve the case, since I doubt any of you have any hope of working it out."  
Sally grinned. "I don't see Lestrade here, do you?" She said sweetly. "And without him here to confirm you're not just some vigilante wanted access to a police investigation, I can't let you in."  
Sherlock opened his mouth, a hint of anger appearing on his normally carefully neutral features, and was about to respond when Lestrade walked up behind them. "Donovan, you know as well as I do that we need Sherlock here. You know what the last two years have been like. Now, let him past."  
Sally glared at the three of them, then whirled around and entered the house. "Fine," she called back. "But if he's going, I am too."

The three of them entered the first room, where a table was laid out with blue suits, similar to the ones John and Lestrade had had to wear at a crime scene in a study in pink. John, Sally and Lestrade all put their suits on. Sally then turned and stared pointedly at Sherlock. "You need to put one of these on," she stated.

Sherlock's mouth tilted slightly upwards at the corners, a hint of a smile forming. Then he waltzed past them into the next room, ignoring Sally's screeches that he'll contaminate the evidence.  
Sally, John and Lestrade entered the next room, to find Sherlock examining a wall with a miniature microscope. "No one from the Yard has investigated here yet?" He asked, sounding slightly surprised. "Normally they've contaminated the scene before I get here, giving me extra unnecessary work."

"I told them to wait outside," explained Lestrade.

Sherlock nodded approvingly. "You're improving." Then turning his attention back to the wall, he began to walk around the room, gently dragging his hands across parts of the wall. Then he examined the splatters of blood on the ground, all leading towards the next room over.

"If you're quite done here," started Sally, "shall we move on. There's nothing to see in here, and there's a chance we may find the body of the victim if we follow the trail."

Sherlock waved his hand dismissively, not looking up from what he was doing. "The trails a fake," he muttered, staring intently into his microscope.

"What?" Demanded Sally.

Sherlock ignored her and proceeded with his work. After a few moments of silence, his eyes widened and he straightened up. "No, " he muttered, a peculiar mixture of alarm and excitement in his tone. "Surely not!"

"What is it?" Asked John, curiosity getting the better of him. He had forgotten how much Sherlock on a crime scene fascinated him.

Sherlock whirled to face them. "If this were a one off murder, the murderer would have simply committed the act, disposed of the weapon and attempted to dispose of the body. There would have been complications with getting rid of the evidence, but we've already seen that this man is an expert from his fake trai-"

"Yes but how do you know it's fake?" Interrupted Sally.

Sherlock turned to looking at her, giving his trademark, 'What is it like in your funny little brain stare.' "Well, looking at the correlation of the blood on the ground and the even distribution, along with the shape and thickness of the smear marks, it's evident a man with gloves planted them their."

At Sally's continued blank stare, Sherlock sighed and stepped towards her. "Come on,it's not rocket science. They're not even hugely noticeable. They weren't drops of blood from someone being dragged out of the room, they're not thick enough for that and they're too inconsistent. They were rubbed into the ground by a hand with a pair of gloves on. "

"But how do you-"

"How do I know about the gloves?" Enquired Sherlock. "Please. A man this smart, a murder so blatant. Of course he would be using gloves. Now, as I was saying. There would have been complications getting rid of the evidence had this been a simply murder. This wasn't murder. However, given the stains on the walls, there was definitely some fight that went on in here. Impossible to say the exact nature, however given the location of this place and the scuff marks on the ground from shoes, I would say they were drunk. Now, a man who was drunk and still clever enough to leave a trail? Must have had experience. So my question is, why plant a false trail anyway? Where did the actual body go?"

"Uh..."began Sally.

"Wait! No!" Shouted Sherlock. "Don't move!" He immediately began pacing the room, his words coming out at a speed the other three couldn't keep up with. Then, after a moment more of scanning the walls, his eyes widened, he shouted 'of course!' And flicked a small switch hidden behind a panel in the wall.  
Suddenly, part of the floor receded, leading down to a pair of dank stone steps. Sally, John and Lestrade stared in shock at Sherlock. He simply stared at the new hole in the ground, a feverish excitement on his face, and started down the steps. Sally rolled her eyes and followed the others down.

As soon as the four of them got inside, the door shut behind them. Sherlock turned and ran his hands along it. It appears to only open from the outside, he muttered slowly. We'll need to wait for the recovery team to let us out.

They were beginning to near the bottom, when Sally noticed how cold it had gotten. The blue suits really didn't do much in terms of insulation. She looked jealously and bitterly at the consulting detective, wrapped up snugly in his suit jacket and coat and scarf.  
Her thoughts were thrown off course however, as the four of them reached the bottom and found a man with thick chains around his arms. He didn't appear to have any major injuries, except on his head. Sally guessed that was how he was knocked unconscious before he was dragged down here. She then realised that he was only wearing an old pair of jeans. His shirt was gone. He was shivering like a controller on vibrate.  
Sally gasped and hurried forward, just as John and Lestrade did. As Lestrade got out his phone to demand back up with tools to get the man released, Sally and John knelt beside him.

"Sally, get him warmed up," John muttered, as he began to examine his head.

Sally nodded, looking around. She couldn't very well give him any of her clothes, all she was wearing was a blue jumpsuit. The same applied for Lestrade and John.

"Sherlock," she said. Immediately the consulting detective turned to look at her, abandoning his position examining the walls of the small room. "Yes?" He enquired.

"Give me your coat," she said. "He's freezing."

Sherlock nodded and handed her his coat and scarf with only the slightest hesitation. He was left standing in his suit, still having his suit jacket to keep him warm as Sally wrapped his usual attire around the shivering man.

"It's not enough!" She muttered, a slight tinge of panic in her voice. "The recovery men won't be here to get us all out for ages, they don't have the correct tools to open his chains yet, and they won't know how to get here without listening to your instruction. Here, give me your suit jacket as well."

Sherlock stepped back at this, a slight widening of his eyes giving away his panic. "Sherlock, what are you doing?" Said Donovan impatiently. "Just give me your jacket!"

At this, both Lestrade and John had turned to stare at Sherlock. "Sherlock, stop being a selfish bastard. Give her it," said John.

Sherlock blinked, took a breath and buttoned his suit jacket, then took it off his shoulders in one quick movement, that actually appeared rather stiff to John. He then handed it to Donovan and was rapidly walking back around the corner to the small staircase to wait, when Lestrade stopped him.

"Hey Sherlock, what's that?" He said curiously.

"While I am well aware accurate communication does not come naturally to you, you are I'm fact going to have to elaborate." Said Sherlock calmly, and yet John couldn't help noticing a slight edge in Sherlock's voice.

"Step into the light a second, Sherlock."

"Why," he responded plainly.

"Just do it Sherlock," John said, joining Lestrade in his curiosity.

Sherlock took a audible breath and stepped forward, his arms crossed over his chest. "Problem?" He demanded condescendingly.

"Move your hands," said Sally impatiently, who had by this stage taken an interest as well. There was nothing more they could do for the other man while they waited, so their attention was firmly focused on Sherlock.

Slowly Sherlock moved his hands down to his side, revealing quite a number of red specks on his white shirt.

"What's that?" Asked John sharply.

"Nothing,' muttered Sherlock quickly. "Nothing of consequence. Must have just been some blood from the walls upstairs that rubbed off on me."

John slowly nodded, but then stopped and frowned. "That blood was dried. Here let me see that."

Sherlock quickly took a step back. "It's nothing, don't be ridiculous John. It's merely a small spot or two of blood. I probably just got a slight graze on the wall."

John nodded reluctantly agreeing with Sherlock. It probably was just a fresh cut if it was appearing on his shirt. He was probably telling the truth.

Sherlock then took a step back, edging around to the stairs, when Sally grabbed his shoulder and turned him, attempting to ask what his problem was for being so slow to give up his jacket. In doing so, his back was exposed for a moment.

Sally stopped and stared, then whirled him around to see his whole back. The white shirt was covered in red, so much so that you could barely even see the white parts of the shirt.

"Sherlock, what on earth is tha-" she began to exclaim, but Sherlock interrupted her, shouting "I told you it's not important."

John and Lestrade were just about to demand answers from him as well, but at that moment the door at the top of the stairs opened, and Sherlock dived out like a shot, ignoring the shouts of Lestrade, Sally and John.


End file.
